This is the first of a series of free-verse pieces dedicated to the men and women who inspire me. This one is about the late German actor and humanitarian, Conrad Veidt.
So few remember you now.
It’s sad, you were so much more than your gaudy contemporaries.
They called you Connie
And though I never met you, and you are now long gone
Your face seems to me
Like that of an old friend.
I know nothing of your younger years
But when you were twenty six
With the Great War distant memory
You were in a film
That changed my life many years later.
You were beautiful then
Wild eyed, slim legged,
Tall and statuesque,
You moved like Poe’s black cat
Across the painted stage;
Your face so pale
Against the dark of your eyes.
When I saw you
I fell for you
Though you were then long dead,
You were a symbol
A beacon
For my changing mind.
Image via Wikipedia
But you were more than that.
More than a mere image.
You liked cars, thunderstorms and cinemas.
You hated interviews and the number seventeen.
A neurotic, an eccentric.
Your homeland was in torment
Hate grew strong around you
As the little man with the toothbrush moustache
Turned the nation against itself.
You married a Jewish girl
And signed your ethnicity “Juden”,
A bold lie
When the six-pointed star was not yours to bear.
You spoke out against them
Those sheep with the red arm-bands:
Handing out pamphlets,
Hurrying the people of David out of sight
You gifted your wealth to the soldiers
Of my little country
To liberate your own.
But the little man came to power
And away to my country you fled,
Blacklisted by your own people.
As war festered
You came to Hollywood.
You were the man with the permanent smile
In a film that reduced me to tears.
You were the pianist with hands of the cursed
I couldn’t sleep that night.
You were the wicked magician
In a fantasy that could not delight more.
You were glorious.
They wanted you to play Dracula
What a monster you would have been!
How different would my stories be
Had the old Count been remembered with a German tongue?
As the bombs began to fall
You were never idle.
You spoke out against them still
Those cold-hearted killers that stole your home
And took your place
In propaganda films,
Rallying the allies on.
You were the brown-shirted villain
Of that most celebrated piece.
Standing side-by-side with Bogart
With stout Rains, with sultry Bergman
And even Lorre with his bulging eyes.
Yes, you were the shadow across Casablanca!
Why are they remembered,
Your photogenic cast-mates?
When you were far nobler than they?
Image via Wikipedia
You died on the golf-course,
You always loved that sport,
And your family were told
By the cold voice of the radio.
Now your ashes rest in London
Paid for by the kindness of strangers:
I sign my name amongst them.
Sweet Connie,
Proud philanthropist,
Modest artist,
Vision of Expressionism!
Yes I love you
For you were everything
A person could hope to be.
For those unfamiliar with Herr Veidt, here’s a video featuring pictures of him along with his recording of the song “The Lighthouse Shines Across the Bay” from 1933, when he had only just moved to England and still had a very strong accent.
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